


After

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series, Stanford-Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They both know this won’t last, can’t last. Soon, Dean will leave and Sam will stay. And all they’ll have are these short moments together carved out of their separate lives. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

Sam can feel Dean watching him. He hasn’t actually seen Dean yet, hadn’t even known Dean was within a thousand miles of Stanford. But as he pushes through the crowd of fedora-ed hipsters and 20-something girls with horn-rimmed glasses and lip rings, he feels a weight on the back of his neck that he hasn’t felt in nine months and fourteen days.

It warms him, slides down his spine like honey and loosens his hips, lengthens and slows his stride. The music has slowly switched from some sort of bland indie rock to some remixed blues. Without conscious thought, he finds he’s matching his stride to the grinding beat.

Like a sunflower to the sun, Sam turns with a grin to meet Dean’s answering grin over the heads of the crowd. The flutter in his chest at the sight of Dean’s too-beautiful face is nothing new, seeing Dean for the first time after an absence always has that effect on Sam. The thrumming of arousal in his veins? Well, that isn’t new either, but for the first time Sam allows himself to recognize it for what it is. He’d thought _maybe_ a few times before he left, caught by the freckles across Dean’s cheeks, or the muscles in back. But he’d never acted, not quite sure what he was feeling, not quite sure how to start. 

That was then. He’s managed to fit in quite a bit of experimentation in nine months and fourteen days. He’s learned a lot more than he expected his first semesters at college. Now he knows.

Sam can feel his smile stretching from ear to ear. He should probably be more worried about Dean’s reason for being here, and more cautious with this reckless feeling. But the way Dean’s eyes are sparkling over the rim of his red plastic cup makes it impossible for Sam to think of anything besides the overwhelming urge he has to kiss his brother in a distinctly unbrotherly manner.

He really hopes Dean won’t punch him if (when) he does.

He barely registers the small body insinuating itself under his arm as he saunters slowly but deliberately towards Dean. Because he's watching Dean as closely as Dean is watching him, he notices the slow drag of Dean’s eyes up and down his body, and the way his pupils dilate, the dark pushing the green into a thin ring. Sam doesn’t know if that's new or not. He has a funny feeling Dean’s looked at him like that before. There are so many things he’s missed because of teenage angst. Important things. 

He’s fairly sure Dean wouldn’t punch him if Sam kissed him right now.

He has to shoulder two moonstruck freshman girls out of the way to get to Dean. They look offended when he shoos them away, but Sam really doesn’t care.

Dean gives the girls his trademark cocky grin and a small apologetic shrug as they leave, then tilts his head up to meet Sam’s eyes. “Hiya, Sammy.”

Sam still finds it odd to have to look down at Dean. “Hey, Dean.” He knows he’s grinning like an idiot but he can’t seem to care.

Dean’s eyes flick down to Sam’s left side. “Who’s your friend?”

Sam’s brow creases and he looks down. Oh, that’s what that was. Some spikey-haired girl in a vintage (he assumes) froofy dress has attached herself to his arm like a remora. He thinks maybe she’s called Rachel. A lot of them seem to be.

“I’m Daphne,” she says, holding out her hand for Dean to shake without relinquishing her hold on Sam.

Dean’s eyebrows rise as he shakes her hand, eyes glinting with suppressed amusement. Sam can see him biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Biting Dean’s mouth really should be Sam’s job. 

“I’m Dean,” he tells her. “Sammy’s brother.” He looks back up at Sam. 

When Sam licks his suddenly dry lips, Dean’s eyes get dangerously dark and Sam is glad for his baggy jeans. He’s sure he should be more concerned about this, more freaked out. When Dean reaches up and ruffles his hair, tugging hard at the curls at the base of his neck, Sam figures they can postpone the freaking out for a while. Save it for after.

“Big brother,” Dean clarifies.

Rachel, no Daphne, looks back and forth between them suspiciously. “Really?” she asks.

“Really,” Sam confirms, shaking loose from her grip. 

Rachel pouts. “Sam never told us he had a brother.” She grabs the arm of one of the fedora-ed hispsters who’s passing by. He has to be eight inches shorter than Dean, and Sam has the urge to see if his beer would stay upright if he plopped it on the kid’s hat. “Duncan, did you know Sam had a brother?”

Duncan peers up like he’s trying to remember if he even knows Sam, let alone the number and gender of his siblings. He blinks slowly behind his glasses. Then he smiles wide. “Oh, yeah, Sam. From Intro to Psych. Yeah, I think he said something about having a brother when we were talking about birth order in class. Remember?”

Daphne says she remembers. Duncan grabs another passing student, and before Sam can even ask Dean why he is there, they're surrounded by Stanford’s hippest and douchiest, and holding glasses of weak beer. Various people are peppering Dean with questions faster than Sam can process.

“Do you interrogate everybody’s brothers like this?” Dean asks. He’s pushed up against Sam’s side as they lean against the host’s kitchen counters. 

Sam feels the heat of him from shoulder to knee. They don’t have to be pushed together like this, there’s plenty of room for either of them to move. They just aren’t. Moving.

Duncan shakes his head. “Nah. It’s just Sam is so quiet. Never talks about himself. This is the perfect opportunity.” 

Someone offers them another beer and Dean makes a face. “Dude, I can’t even drink this ironically anymore.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a flask, holds it out to Sam and raises his eyebrows in challenge. 

Sam takes it gratefully. The first sip has him coughing, eyes watering. It’s been a while since he’s had some of the old hunter’s helper. The second sip goes down smoother. Dean’s smiling at him when he hands the flask back.

They pass the flask back and forth a few times, deflecting the questions with practiced ease. Dean throws in a convincing lie or two, and Sam helps, spinning stories that draw skeptical laughter from their incredulous audience while not even coming close to heir real experiences.

Dean’s in the middle of a semi-true story of his sexcapades with some blonde twins in Mississippi, leaving out the fact that they were witches and actually a hundred and fifty years old, and Sam’s feeling no pain. His cheeks are flushed, and his head sits heavy on his neck. Dean’s leaned back, bracing his arm behind Sam on the counter. His fingers slide just the slightest bit under Sam’s ass. Sam lets his head loll onto Dean’s. Might as well be some benefit to being taller. 

“Still a lightweight, baby bro?” Dean laughs, pushing Sam’s head up. 

Sam rolls his head to the other side and grabs the almost-empty flask from his hand.

“Hey, hey, hey,” one of the unnamed guys calls out, waving a finger drunkenly at Sam and Dean. “Sam...Sam’s got his own twins story. Right? Right?” He looks at the group for confirmation. “Did you tell him about Jack and Jill?”

Dean scoffs. “Really? Jack and Jill.”

Sam holds his hands up defensively. “Hey, man, I didn’t name ‘em.”

“Yeah, just fucked them,” someone snorts.

“Really,” Dean repeats. He wiggles his hand a little further under Sam’s hip, reaches across Sam’s body with the other to grab the flask back. He doesn’t pull away as he tips it up, finishing the last sip. Sam can see the whiskey on his lips and is about two seconds away from just licking it off. Dean wipes his bottom lip off with his thumb, licking it off with a flick of his tongue.

“Dean,” Sam says, meaning a hundred different things.

Luckily, Dean is fluent in Sam. He pulls away from Sam with a laugh, pushes off from the counter. “Well, it’s been great talking with you all, but I need to talk to my little brother for a bit. Alone.” He grabs Sam and drags him out of the kitchen and up the nearest set of stairs.

Dean is opening door after door as they stumble down the long hallway. Bathroom, closet, occupied bedroom, _oops, sorry_ , study, unoccupied bedroom. _Bingo_. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” Sam comments, laughing as he slams a hip against doorknob and whacks his hand against the doorframe.

“Oh, yeah?” Dean says, reaching around Sam and pulling the door closed behind them “Then you’re really going to hate this.” He crowds into Sam’s space, puts his hands flat on Sam’s chest and pushes him up against the door. “So, Sammy. Been switch-hitting in college? Finding out some new things about yourself?”

Sam’s head is spinning from the whiskey, from the heat of Dean’s body, and the lust burning up his veins. They’re not touching except where Dean’s palms press against his chest. He wants Dean so bad he’s shaking. There’s a small part of his brain telling him that this is as far from normal and safe as you can get. Then Dean slides his hands down Sam’s chest, nails catching and dragging across his nipples, and he remembers, _freak out after_. “Dean,” he sighs, head thudding back against the door.

Dean continues exploring Sam’s torso with his hands. He leans his head on Sam’s shoulder, turning so Sam feels his breath curl around neck when he speaks quietly into the skin. “Been waiting for you to be all grown up, baby boy.” He slides his lips the barest inch up Sam’s neck. “You are all grown up now, right?”

Sam’s fluent in Dean Winchester. He knows what Dean’s really asking. _Are you disgusted with me? Do you really want this?_ And most of all, _Tell me I’m not alone in this._

Winchesters are men of action, not words, so Sam peels his hands off the door where he’s been doing his best to dig his fingernails into the wood and clamps then onto Dean’s hips, pulling Dean flush against his body. They groan at the contact, Dean’s mouth sliding hot and wet on Sam’s throat. “Yeah, Jesus,” Sam shudders. “Dean, please.” 

Dean growls deep in his chest and bites at Sam’s neck, sliding his around Sam’s back and grinding them together. 

Sam can’t catch his breath. Dean’s nothing like this with girls. Dean is all soft and gentle with them, taking his cues from them. It was always so jarring to Sam. He wanted to grab them and say, _That’s not him. You know that’s not the real Dean, right?_ But of course they don’t know. Only Sam gets to know that.

 _Have there been guys? How is Dean with them?_ Sam pictures Dean pumping hard and fast into some guy, and lust and jealousy twist his gut and make him gasp.

Dean is working at the thin skin of his neck and Sam knows he’s going to have a ring of marks to explain in the morning. Every suck and sharp bite goes right to his cock and he can’t hold back the gasps and whimpers. Dean’s got both hands on the muscles of Sam’s ass and is just rolling their hips together in a move so practiced, Sam knows this can’t be the first time Dean’s done this. Sam feels him through the two layers of denim, hot and hard and perfect. Dean dips his hips and kind of shimmies up, dragging his cock across Sam’s, and Sam is going to come without ever kissing Dean, and that just won’t do.

He grabs the short hair on the back of Dean’s head and pulls him off his neck. When he tilts Dean’s head back, his eyes are almost all-black with lust and he star3w at Sam like he wants to fuck him right against the door. Sam is so on board with that. “Dean,” he pants, pulling Dean’s mouth to his.

Dean’s mouth is just as perfect as it looks and he wields it like a weapon of mass destruction, obliterating any of Sam’s brain cells the whiskey might have spared. Dean teases, flicking his tongue against Sam’s lips, biting down on the bottom one and sucking on it. He kisses gently, lips sliding against Sam’s - once, twice, three time. He owns Sam’s mouth, pushing his way in, fucking Sam’s mouth in rhythm with the roll and thrust of his hips.

Sam can’t remember how to breath under the onslaught, and when Dean slides his hand into Sam’s hair and tugs, his knees actually fucking give out and he sags down the door with a long groan, clutching at Dean’s shoulders.

Dean chuckles, the fucker, and pulls Sam off the door, spinning him around and walking him backwards towards what Sam prays is a bed. “Come on, Sasquatch. Can’t hold you up and fuck you at the same time.” He’s stripping out of his coat and overshirt as he pushes Sam.

Sam’s knees hit the bed and he goes down. Dean strips off his final shirt, then reaches for Sam, quickly and efficiently undressing him. As Sam lifts his arms up for Dean to pull the t-shirt over his head, he’s hit with an old, old sense memory of Dean doing this for him night after night all those years ago when Dean was a just a kid raising a kid. He shivers with a punch of love and lust. He can’t separate the two when it comes to Dean. Not anymore. When the shirt clears his face, he looks up to see Dean staring at him, one hand clutching the shirt, eyes wide with the same memory.

“Sammy?” Dean asks.

It’s the first sign of vulnerability Sam’s seen in him all night and it makes Sam fall just a bit more in love with his brother. And it makes him want to get Dean naked even faster. He’s so fucked up. But so is Dean. At least they’re fucked up together.

He leans forward, hands at the button of Dean’s jeans, and kisses and bites at the soft skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles twitch under his mouth. He peels back the material of Dean’s pants, and just breathes over the hard length there. “All grown up now, big brother.” He feels wildly reckless now. Consequences be damned. He’ll deal with them later. After this.

He pulls Dean’s boxes away from his body slowly, reverently. Dean’s sharp inhale of breath, and the way his hands tighten on Sam’s shoulders makes Sam dizzy. When he wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, it’s hot and heavy in his hands. Soft and hard and hot-blooded, and that’s just so Dean. He has to get his mouth on it right now. He pushes Dean back and slithers off the bed. 

The way Dean says his name as Sam slides his mouth down is almost enough to tip Sam over the edge. He grabs Dean’s ass and pulls him closer. He loves doing this, loves feeling Dean losing it above him. Dean’s got nothing to hold onto except Sam. Sam can feel his legs trembling. When Sam takes a deep breath and just inhales Dean all the way down, Dean makes a sound like all the air has been punched out of him. He's panting like crazy, and croaks out Sam’s name. He grabs Sam’s head, cupping his face in his hands, fingers pressing behind Sam’s jaw, thumbs tracing where Sam’s lips are sealed around him. With a sharp curse, he thrusts forward, just fucking Sam’s face. 

Sam relaxes his jaw and lets it happen. Dean pushes him down lower onto his heels. The quilt on the bed is scratchy against his shoulders and his dick presses hard against the zipper of his jeans. All around him is Dean. He can’t see anything, taste anything, or feel anything but Dean. Over the pounding of blood in his head, he hears Dean begging in a broken whisper _please, please_

Dean’s almost bent over Sam now; one hand on the bed, the other on the back of Sam’s head. He feels even harder and thicker in Sam’s mouth. Sam can tell by the trembling in his legs and arms, the bitter spurts over his tongue, that Dean is close. So close. He pulls his hand off Dean’s ass and reaches down to pop the button of his jeans and yank the zipper down to relieve the pressure. He moans around Dean’s dick with how good it feels. He’s so wet already, so hard.

“Oh God, don’t come, don’t come, Sam.” Dean grips Sam’s hair and pulls his head back until Sam can barely keep Dean in his mouth. “I wanna see.” Sam looks up at Dean, bangs wet with sweat and clinging to his forehead, face flushed, and lips swollen red. “Fuck,” Dean forces through clenched teeth.

Eye’s locked on Dean’s, Sam drags his hand up and down Dean’s length and swirls his tongue over the head.

Dean’s hips snap forward, forcing him deep into Sam’s mouth and Dean comes hard, gasping Sam’s name. 

Sam’s hands trail up Dean’s side as Dean falls to his knees in front of him. He leans against Sam’s forehead, panting, laughing breathlessly. “Damn.”

Sam is drawn tight against him, quivering on the edge of orgasm. Dean leans back on his heels, still catching his breath, and rakes his glance over Sam’s body, taking in the flushed face, the way his chest heaves and the rock-hard cock shiny and wet at the tip.

With the flithiest grin Sam has ever seen on Dean (and he’s seen a lot) Dean reaches out and pinches both of Sam’s nipples. Hard. He twists them, and Sam’s back arches against the bed as he comes breathlessly. Dean chuckles, “Thought you’d like that.” Grabbing Sam under the armpits, he shoves him clumsily up on the bed. Sam crawls backwards on his elbows as Dean pulls off Sam’s sneakers and drags his jeans down his legs.

Dean bites the inside of Sam’s thigh and looks at him, eyes dark and desperate. “I gotta fuck you, please Sam. Say yes. Please.”

“God, yes,” Sam answers, grabbing Dean and pulling him up against him.

They shove and pull and each other, stripping off the rest of Dean’s clothes, kissing and touching wherever they can until they're flat on the bed. Dean lays between Sam’s legs. Sam can’t get enough of Dean’s skin against his. He drags his hand across Dean’s strong, beautiful back, feeling the soft skin, hard muscles, and scars. He wraps his legs around Dean’s hips and rubs, soft hairs catching and tugging gently. They’re sticky where their groins touch, and it’s almost a little painful, but it still sends sparks up and down Sam’s spine.

Dean stops kissing the hell out of Sam long enough to roll to the side and grab for his jeans. He leans up on his elbow and digs through the pocket, pulling out a handful of lube packs and condoms. Sam raises his eyebrows. “Bowls full of them by the door, Sammy. I love colleges.”

Sam laughs and grabs the lube, still kissing Dean. They can’t seem to stop. Dean hand is wound through Sam’s hair like he’s waited his whole life to do it. 

Urgency is building in them again. Sam feels time slipping through his hands. They both know this won’t last, can’t last. Soon, Dean will leave and Sam will stay. And all they’ll have are these short moments together carved out of their separate lives. 

Dean pushes up on his elbows and grabs the foil packet. Sam closes his eyes at the sight of Dean squeezing lube onto his fingers. _Oh, god._ His breath hitches as Dean rolls onto his side and slides his hand between Sam’s legs. His thighs spread and his knees come up, almost clocking Dean in the head.

Dean has one finger just circling where Sam wants it most. “Okay, Sam?”

Eyes still closed, Sam nods, and Dean slides in with a groan echoed by Sam.

Sam’s had fingers up him before. His, other people's. Once, maybe twice. But never...it never felt anything close to this. Dean’s mouth on him, kissing any skin he can reach. His voice in Sam’s ear telling him how fucking amazing he is, how beautiful. Just as Sam is starting to get on top of the wave of pleasure, Dean slides in another finger, winding Sam back up. Three, and Sam is moaning and grasping at Dean. “Oh, fuck,” he forces out. “Fuck. Dean, so freaking good.” He’s just riding Dean’s fingers now. Dean’s barely moving, hand braced on the bed as Sam thrusts up and down.

Sam’s head thrashes back and forth on the bed. He catches a glimpse of Dean’s face, eyes wide, mouth dropped in awe. 

“Jesus,” Dean whispers. His hips are rolling against Sam over and over, hard cock thrusting insistently into his side. “Holy fuck. Gonna come just watching you, Sammy. God, the way you feel.”

Sam can’t answer, can’t stop. He’d love for Dean to fuck him, love to feel Dean slot between his legs, pull him in and kiss the oxygen right out of his lungs. But he can’t stop. Couldn’t stop with a gun to his head. He needs to get his mouth on something but he can’t reach Dean. He throws his arm across his face, biting and sucking at the skin on the back of his forearm. His other hand has a deathgrip in the sheets.

He hears footsteps in the hall and lets out a deep muffled groan. The footsteps stop and a girl giggles. 

Dean curses, “Fuck,” and pulls his fingers out of Sam. 

Sam’s hand flies to the headboard with a yell.

The girl outside giggles and a male voice calls out, “Fuck yeah!” through the door. Another feminine giggle, and the footsteps recede quickly. 

Dean is clambering over Sam’s legs and he slips his hands under Sam’s thighs, pushing them up and out. Dean grabs for a condom and pauses. “You ever do this before?” 

Sam shakes his head wildly. “No. No never. Only you.”

Dean has to stop what he’s doing and just breathe for a moment. Sam’s chest heaves in time with Dean’s breaths. Dean’s hand trails down back between Sam’s legs, brushing against his balls and pressing gently against his entrance. “You clean?” he whispers into Sam’s ear.

 _Oh, god_ Sam’s mind is a blank, his whole being concentrated on the feel of Dean’s fingers teasing, testing, but not going where Sam needed.

“Sam-my,” Dean singsongs. “Are you? Can we? I really want to feel you bare.”

That finally penetrates the fog of lust, parts it like a blade. “Oh, god. Please, please, Dean. Just fuck me.” He knows he’s being loud, knows anyone outside can hear them but he really doesn’t give a rat’s ass right now.

Dean’s hand on Sam’s thigh trembles. He’s holding himself with the other one, slowly moving into Sam. Sam grabs the back of his thigh and holds it. 

Then it’s just pressure and fullness. A stretching that slides into pleasure, and Dean is pressed fully against him. Dean turns his head, panting and opening his mouth against Sam’s knee. Sam doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Dean shifts on the bed, and Sam moans low. “Okay?” Dean asks.

Sam nods. “Good. Good, just...I don’t know.” He doesn’t know what he needs, just needs something. More. “Just...move. I don’t know.”

Dean runs his hands soothingly down the long, hard muscles of Sam’s legs. “I got you, Sammy.” He pulls out and pushes back in slow and steady. And it’s good. So good. So good.

Dean keeps moving, in and out, and Sam can’t take it. It’s too much, building and building. He distantly registers Dean dropping down, the shift in position making Sam yell. His cock is trapped between their bodies and Dean’s biting and sucking on his neck. He’s going to come, he can feel it building inexorably at the base his spine, spreading through his whole lower body. Sam arches his back against the bed, hands fisted in the sheets. The only sound is the slap of skin, low grunts, and gasping breaths.

Dean is thrusting wildly now. Just pumping into Sam like he had done in Sam’s imagination, and Sam doesn’t know how he is supposed to live without this after. He wraps his arm and legs around Dean’s body, trapping him there, pulling him as far inside of him as he can.

Dean stiffens, sleek muscles tight under Sam’s fingers. When Sam bites his shoulder, hard - there’s going to be teeth marks there tomorrow - Dean comes with a strangled yell.

There’s a rattle at the doorknob and somebody yells, “Sam?”

Still pulsing inside Sam, Dean wedges his hand between their bodies and wraps it around Sam. Sam comes, moans muffled against Dean’s skin.

“They’re probably fucking,” a girl says from outside.

Dean pulls out quickly, sending an aftershock shuddering up Sam’s body, and Dean gives him a deep kiss even as he’s rolling off the bed.

“Ew,” says a second guy.

“Did you lock the door?” Dean asks, throwing clothes at Sam, still laying panting on the bed. Sam only shakes his head.

“Come on,” the first voice adds, knocking quietly at the door. “Did you see the way they were looking at each other? And they way they were touching? They’re totally fucking.”

Sam wipes half-assedly at his stomach and between his legs. Dean is already sliding his jeans up his legs.

“I heard Jack and Jill do threesomes,” the girl comments.

Sam yanks his jeans up, grabs his filthy shirt with one hand, clean shirts and shoes with the other. Dean has the french doors to the minuscule balcony open. Wearing only jeans, he tosses the rest of this clothes over the edge.

“No shit," the second guys answers. "Probably why they were looking for Sam.” The door opens.

One leg swung over the rail, Dean quirks his eyebrow and grins at Sam. He swings the other leg over and jumps down. “Son of a bitch,” he calls out from below. “Fucking roses.”

Sam tosses his clothes over the edge. Hands on the rail, ready to leap out. The door opens.

“Hey, Sam,” Duncan calls to Sam’s back as he lowers himself over the rail and drops. He lands in the bushes, taking Dean’s hand gratefully, and they run into the night, half-naked, covered in bites marks and scratches. 

When they’re far enough away from the house, they stop on the side of a dark apartment building, laughing and gasping for air. “Awesome,” Dean laughs, smile blinding even in the low moonlight.

They get dressed quickly, Sam making a face at his crusty T-shirt. He starts to throw it in the nearby dumpster, but Dean stops him. “Way too much DNA on that.”

Sam nods in agreement. Now, fully dressed, face to face, and sober, Sam’s not sure what comes next. He slides his hands into his back pockets, looks sideways as Dean, not ready to look into his eyes and read the goodbye there. “So, when...I mean, where are you...”

He doesn’t get to finish because Dean is grabbing his shirt and pulling him down for a deep kiss. And, yeah, that’s a much better idea. Sam is suddenly exhausted from the whiskey, the two amazing orgasm, the running, and the emotional storm of seeing Dean again. He sways, just a bit, against Dean.

Dean pulls away with a smile. He turns and slides his hand around Sam’s waist, letting Sam rest an arm over his shoulder. “C’mon. The car’s just down this block a bit. I got a room at some hotel. Nice digs around here, Sam. Wait til you see the shower.”

Dean guides them down the sidewalk. He reaches up to touch the vivid marks circling Sam’s neck, peppering his collarbones. “Lucy, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

Sam leans his head against Deans. “Tomorrow.” _Tomorrow._ Or the next day. When Dean is gone. After. Sam will deal with all of it after. Right now, he has Dean, and he plans to take as much as he can. And Dean will let him, the way he always does.

**Author's Note:**

> In response to this anonymous prompt.
> 
> Top!Dean NC-17 fic where Sam's in college and Dean shows up one day and goes to a party with Sam so everyone knows they are brothers but they end up drunk and fucking in a room and Sam's not quiet and the door isn't locked and anyone can walk in at any moment but neither of them care.
> 
> Close as I could come.


End file.
